Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(101)

Word came via the many fishing launches and ship’s boats oaring between the four vessels that Captain Cartheron was recovering and that he’d chosen to remain on board the Supplicant for the while. Ieleen had chuckled throatily at that news and when Jute made a questioning sound she explained: ‘Gettin’ together, those two. Much to talk about, no doubt.’

Jute had frowned at the news, baffled. What could such a potent sorceress see in that battered old veteran? Certainly, he’d had his heyday as a top lieutenant and confidant of the hoary old emperor, but all that had been long ago.

The further east they ventured the thicker and more persistent the ground fog and banks of mist became. Jute could even watch it pouring down the forest slopes and out over the calm waters like some sort of liquid itself. At first he was alarmed, as it reminded him of the enchanted fogs of the Sea of Dread. But Ieleen did not seem concerned, and so he decided it must be a purely natural phenomenon.

Also growing in number were those chunks of floating ice, some as large as the vessels themselves. Jute kept a number of the crew permanently armed with poles to fend the hazards off. They also occasionally encountered great sheets of ice loose upon the surface. These passed lazily, drifting south. Some appeared no thicker than a skin, others a good arm’s depth of rock-hard ice.

It occurred to Jute that they were witnessing a spring break-up, and that somewhere to the east there must lie a great congestion of ice.

Farmsteads emerged from the mists: modest log and sod huts amid clearings hacked from the forest. Rounding a bay they came to a broad low headland, cloaked in fog, where a single tall keep of stone reared close to a rising cliff behind. A clutch of huts and cleared fields surrounded it and the shore was crowded by vessels heaved up upon the flats. Jute counted some fifty of them.

East of this lay an inlet choked in ice. Jute could hear the grinding and groaning of the massive sheet. Behind the inlet, further inland, rose what appeared to be a mountain of ice – a great sky-blue dome that gleamed like a sapphire jewel.

‘If only you could see this, dearest,’ he told Ieleen, awed.

‘I see something,’ she murmured, and she did not sound pleased by it.

The Supplicant anchored clear of the shore, while Jute had the crew drive the Dawn up on to the flats. The Ragstopper anchored next to the sorceress’s vessel; the Resolute drew up next to the Dawn. Jute was troubled to see all the nearby ships were empty of any crew. No guards or watches, and no teams working on repairs even though most were quite badly in need of it.

He ordered a watch, armed himself, and kissed Ieleen on the cheek.

‘Have a care, luv,’ she told him. ‘I’ve a sense our friend isn’t the only power here.’

The mud was thick and chill. It clung to his boots like weights as he made his way up the shore. Tyvar emerged, fully armed and armoured, helmet tucked under one arm. His long blue cape dragged in the mud as he came.

‘Greetings!’ the mercenary called out, grinning behind his beard, as friendly as ever. ‘How fares our pilot?’

‘She is recovered, thank you.’

‘Excellent! And our Malazan friend is also in good care, so I hear.’

‘Yes.’

Tyvar gestured a gauntleted hand to the keep. ‘And what do you make of the settlement?’

Jute peered round. There were people about: figures could be seen working the many fields where scarves of fog drifted. ‘Quiet.’

Tyvar’s smile hardened and he nodded. ‘Ah! Here comes our, ah, ally.’ He motioned to the flats. A launch had pulled up, oared by crew that Jute couldn’t identify over the distance. The tall unmistakable figure of Lady Orosenn straightened then, and stepped out into the mud. She made for shore. As she neared, Jute saw with some surprise that she had changed her outfit: she now wore tall leather moccasins laced to the knees over buckskin trousers, belted, with a shirt and a long thick felt jacket hanging open at the front. Her hair blew long and midnight black about her shoulders. Her face, now uncovered, revealed a broad tall brow, deep ridges sheltering the eyes, and a long heavy jaw.

He and Tyvar bowed. ‘Greetings, Lady Orosenn,’ the mercenary rumbled. ‘You are dressed for the weather, I see.’

She laughed, waved a hand deprecatingly, took a deep breath of the chill air. ‘I am dressed for home, friend mercenary.’

‘Home?’ Jute blurted, then regretted opening his mouth. ‘You are from here?’ he finished weakly.

The lady laughed again. ‘No, friend captain. I am not. Yet this is home all the same.’ She waved them onwards. ‘Captain Cartheron sends his regrets – he yet remains too weak to walk. Come. Let us greet our hostess, the Lady Mist. Though, I am certain she will not be so pleased to see us.’ She swept on, and Jute and the mercenary captain hurried to follow.

As they neared the keep they passed more of the locals, though, in point of fact, Jute noted that none were local. All were men and all were quite obviously from elsewhere. Jute recognized Genabackans and Malazans and glimpsed many other types unfamiliar to him despite his extensive travels. Most wore the ragged remains of sailors’ sturdy canvas trousers or leathers; most carried hoes and other farmers’ implements. None would meet their gaze as they passed. Some even turned away, or shook their heads.

Jute glanced to Tyvar. ‘Solemn lot.’

‘I see fear,’ the mercenary rumbled.